"you're waiting for the G train..." (tequilideas) wrote,
"you're waiting for the G train..."

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fic: tu es la belle et moi la bête


Title: tu es la belle et moi la bête
Pairing: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Rating: R
Wordcount: ~5000
Warnings: this might very well be crack fic. as in any logic that appears is staggeringly feeble at best.
Summary: Eames laughs and says, “Right, sure, I’m acting like a dog. Of course.”

“No,” Ariadne says. “Really.” She looks serious. Arthur and Cobb look serious too. Everyone looks so serious and Eames just kind of wants them to smile and maybe throw something for him. Failing that, Cobb could just pay him his share already so Eames can get out of here and bury it somewhere safe.

Eames backtracks and reexamines that thought.

“Oh,” he says.
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit, nope, nope, nope.
Notes: this was inspired by a ~dream~ oh my! I watched that episode of How I Met Your Mother where Robin’s dogs turn into her exes, saw these ridiculously wonderful pictures of Tom Hardy and my brain said, oh Eames is a dog and I said oh okay brain. Title is from Carla Bruni’s “Le Toi de Moi”, cut lyrics are from The Stooges’s “I Wanna Be Your Dog” because, well, obviously.

When Cobb said, “Have you ever forged an animal before?” the correct answer was ‘no, why in God’s name would I?’ but Eames, of course, said, “Once or twice,” and the grudgingly impressed look Arthur gave him was worth it at the time.

In his defense, he still doesn’t quite see the harm. He’s never had any trouble putting on someone else’s body. He explained it to Arthur once as something like being a high fashion model: the look is just craftsmanship, that’s something an Architect could do, but learning the right attitudes to carry it off, that’s a Forger’s specialty. So, a dog suit. A little more pedestrian, perhaps, but Eames thinks of it as low-end fashion and gets on with it.

The job goes fine. The mark is overjoyed to see his long-dead pet and Eames plays a bit of fetch with him, gets a few scratches and pets (which feel really absurdly good), and then has the mark ‘remind’ him where he buries all his favorite bones, unearthing a briefcase full of corporate secrets for Cobb. It’s not the weirdest job Eames has ever done, but it’s certainly in the top ten.

When he wakes up Arthur’s already putting the PASIV device away and Eames kind of wants to hump his leg. It’s not exactly the first time he’s had the thought, so he doesn’t realize anything is wrong. They leave the mark as they found him, snoring in a hotel bed, and slip out without a hitch.

“Good work,” Cobb says, clapping Eames on the shoulder. Eames feels a ridiculous swelling of joy in his gut and he grins. Cobb’s good opinion has never really mattered much before, but tonight, for some reason, Eames really wants to be praised. “I’ll give our client the information, you two can head out.” He takes his hand off Eames’s shoulder and turns left down the hall. Eames almost starts after him, but Arthur is going the other way and he feels very strongly that he needs to follow Arthur, so he does, jogging down the hall after him.

“Can I help you?” Arthur asks as Eames falls into step beside him. Arthur doesn’t look pleased to see him. Eames feels his inner joy-bubble deflate a bit.

“Thought you might want some company is all,” he says, but really, the thought of returning to his own empty hotel room is so depressing it’s almost unbearable. He tries not to, but he can’t help giving Arthur a look that’s just a little bit pleading.

Arthur stares at him for a long moment then says, “Drinks?”

Eames perks up again instantly. “That’s more like it.”


They hit the hotel bar and everything’s fine. Eames doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, though Arthur seems a little bit concerned by the way Eames keeps trying to smell him.

“It’s interesting,” Eames tries to explain. “You smell so interesting.” But he can tell it’s bothering Arthur so he tries not to be too obvious about it. Arthur catches him leaning in too close once or twice, but Eames puts on his most innocent expression and Arthur never yells at him.

Arthur stands up to leave some hours later and Eames has that same moment of panic he had in the hall outside the mark’s room. He doesn’t want Arthur to go. What if he never comes back? What will happen to Eames then?

“It’s been… strange,” Arthur says to Eames, adjusting his cuffs, his tie. “Go home and get some sleep.” He turns to go.

“Are you sure you don’t want one more drink?” Eames tries. He makes his eyes as big as he can.

Arthur stares at him again, actually looking a little worried. “Really, Eames. Go to sleep.”

On his way out, Arthur crumples up the napkin from under his drink and throws it towards the trash. It doesn’t quite make it, landing on the floor. Eames lurches off his bar stool, grabs the napkin and trots over to Arthur. He feels instantly that this was the right thing to do. He holds out the crumpled napkin proudly.

Arthur takes the napkin, staring at it like he’s never seen one before. The look Arthur gives him is kind of hilarious, unnerved and suspicious. Eames wants to lick him, but he doesn’t. “Did you want it back?” he says. “You lost it over there, so I thought…”

Arthur’s eyes narrow and he says, “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Eames cocks his head, confused.

“Cut it out, Eames,” Arthur says.


“You think this is cute, but it really isn’t.”

Arthur looks mad at him now. Eames has never felt so small in his entire life. He hunches his shoulders and looks up at Arthur sadly.

“Now you’re just freaking me out,” Arthur mutters.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it anymore,” Eames says. “Are you going to throw that again?” It felt really, really good to bring it back. Eames hopes Arthur throws it again.

Arthur, still staring at Eames, tosses the napkin farther. It lands in a planter, but Eames can still get it. He just has to jump over that decorative vase and –

Arthur grabs him by the collar. “No,” he says, firmly. “Stay.”

Eames relaxes, staring at Arthur. He can stay, he can do that.

“Eames,” Arthur says, “if you are fucking with me I am going to kill you.”

“What are you talking about?” Eames says. “Can I go get the napkin? Someone else might pick it up if I don’t get it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Arthur says, “this cannot be happening to me.” He takes out his phone and calls Cobb.


Eames is going to sleep at Arthur’s place and he’s thrilled. He doesn’t have to be alone! He’s on his very best behavior as they walk to Arthur’s apartment. He watches the cars zoom by but he doesn’t chase them because Arthur (looking like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth) told him to ‘heel.’

“I’m taking him to my place for tonight, but I need help, Dom,” Arthur is hissing into his phone. “It’s seriously bizarre, I don’t know what to do with him! I thought he said he’d done animals before!”

“Oh, I lied,” Eames tells him. Arthur just stares at him. “I’m sorry,” Eames says. “Was that bad?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, sounding strangled. “Very bad, Eames.”

Eames is crushed.

“Oh god, Cobb, he’s whimpering at me, seriously, how do we stop this?” He must be furious with Eames because he ignores him for the rest of the walk.


Arthur’s apartment is so great. It smells like Arthur all over. Eames invites himself in and sniffs one of the pillows on the sofa. “Mm,” he says.

“I am really not okay with this,” Arthur says. He hasn’t moved from the door, like he’s afraid to get too close to Eames.

“What are you doing all the way over there, darling,” Eames huffs, “I’m not going to bite.”

For some reason Arthur thinks that’s really funny. He won’t explain it, but Eames is just pleased that he’s happy. He’s less happy when Eames tries to follow him into the bedroom.

“No,” Arthur says. “Absolutely not. You’re sleeping on the couch.”

Eames sighs, but he retreats to the living room. He does feel very tired, but he thinks he should walk around a bit first before he lies down, just to make sure he’s really comfortable. He does a few circles around the coffee table and flops down, sighing happily. Arthur makes a kind of choking sound but doesn’t say anything.


When Arthur wakes up the next morning, Eames is just about to pee in the corner of the apartment.

“Oh my god, no, no, no, no, no. NO.” Arthur grabs him by the collar again and drags him away. “This is too much.” Eames shrinks up sadly. “Stop that!” Arthur says, “Stop with the puppy eyes, you’re ridiculous.”

Eames just wanted to make sure the next person who came to Arthur’s apartment knew that Eames had been there. It was important, he wouldn’t have just peed on the floor for no reason, he knows better than that. “I’m sorry,” he says, instead of explaining. Arthur probably isn’t going to appreciate Eames warning other people off him, he figures.

Arthur just let’s go of Eames and pinches his nose like he’s trying to hold back a headache. “I have this crazy desire to hit you with a rolled up newspaper right now,” he says.

“Kinky,” Eames says appreciatively.


Cobb and Ariadne also smell interesting, but not quite as interesting as Arthur. Cobb left some Chinese take-out in his office a few nights ago and that smells fascinating.

“Seriously,” Eames says, bringing it back to the main area of the warehouse they’ve been using for the job. “You have to smell this, it’s revolting!” The others are staring at him. “What?”

“Do you see what I mean?” Arthur says, pointing accusingly at Eames.

“Throw that out,” Cobb tells Eames. Eames hesitates (he was kind of thinking about having a taste of it later) but in the end he decides obeying is the better option. He’s hoping for another ‘good job’ or something, but Cobb just turns to Arthur and says, “Are you sure?”

“He tried to pee in my apartment,” Arthur says in a long-suffering tone that Eames knows means he’s said the exact same thing at least ten times by now.

“Maybe he was just drunk?” Ariadne suggests.

Eames loses interest in the conversation. It’s rude, anyway, talking about him like he’s not there. He strolls around the warehouse for a little bit, then flops into a chair to wait for them to pay attention to him again. He has an itch just behind his ear, so he scratches it and, oh, that feels really good. Really, really good. So he scratches harder and makes a pleased little “mm.” He doesn’t realize he’s closed his eyes until he opens them again and everyone is staring at him.

“Why do you all keep doing that?” he says.

“Did you play fetch with Arthur last night?” Cobb says, like that’s a totally normal question.

“Is that some kind of weird sex thing?” Eames asks. “I think I would have remembered a weird sex thing.”

“I don’t think he knows he’s even doing it,” Arthur tells Cobb.

“What?” Eames says, finally getting fed up with it all. “What am I doing?”

“You’re kind of,” Ariadne says and then looks at Cobb like she’s second-guessing herself, which makes sense because her theory that Eames is “acting like a dog” is totally crazy.

So Eames laughs and says, “Right, sure, I’m acting like a dog. Of course.”

“No,” Ariadne says. “Really.” She looks serious. Arthur and Cobb look serious too. Everyone looks so serious and Eames just kind of wants them to smile and maybe throw something for him. Failing that, Cobb could just pay him his share already so Eames can get out of here and bury it somewhere safe.

Eames backtracks and reexamines that thought.

“Oh,” he says.


“This is why it was important that you’d done this before,” Arthur yells. “You idiot, we asked you and you said-”

“Arthur, stop yelling at him,” Ariadne says. “Look at him! He looks so sad!” It’s true, Eames might be pouting just a little bit. The term ‘puppy-dog eyes’ flashes through his mind.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Arthur says, pointedly not looking at Eames.

“And I told you I can’t help it!” Eames snaps. “What the hell is happening to me?” he asks Cobb. Arthur probably knows, but Arthur’s going to shout at him when he tells him, so Eames decides he’d rather hear it from Cobb.

“Forging an animal is different because the consciousness of an animal isn’t self-aware, so the mind is much more tied to the body. By forging an animal body and allowing the mark to project that body-mind onto your consciousness you opened yourself up to it. And because you didn’t know what to expect, you accepted it.” Cobb still sounds angry, but at least in a restrained, non-shouty way. Eames only sulks a little.

“But it’ll stop right?” he says. “It’ll wear off?”

“Probably?” Cobb guesses.

“Probably?” Eames repeats, horrified. “’Probably’ as in ‘there’s also probably a chance I’ll be wanting to eat three-day-old lo mein for the rest of my life?’”

“Ewww,” Ariadne says. “You were gonna eat that?”

“Well, I didn’t!” Eames says defensively. “Can we focus on the problems that are actually happening?” Eames feels a bit hysterical. He’s really gearing up for a rant when Cobb suddenly raises his fist and shakes it at Eames.

“Eames! Eames, go get the ball!”

“Oh, fuck you,” Eames says, “you think I don’t know there’s nothing in your hand? How stupid-” Cobb pretends to throw something into the next room. Eames follows the motion of Cobb’s hand with his eyes and says, “Um. Be right back.” He ducks into the next room, just to be sure.

“Well, that’s pretty useful,” he hears Cobb say behind him.


Cobb says he knows some other forgers who’ve tried animals, so he and Ariadne go out to make a few rounds, gathering information while Arthur, of course, does some research. This also means he gets stuck with Eames, which Eames doesn’t feel very sorry about. He figures it’s Arthur’s fault Eames is in this mess anyway. If Arthur wasn’t so damn hard to please, Eames could just woo him in the usual way and not have to lie about his abilities.

Eames wasn’t counting on his dog-consciousness being so susceptive to disapproval, however. He can’t stand that Arthur is mad at him. It makes him feel sick and heavy and really miserable, more miserable than he can ever remember feeling in his life. How do dogs live this way, he wonders. Before this happened, he would have thought Arthur being irritated with him for something this stupid was hilarious but now it feels like the end of the world. Eames tries to stay out of Arthur’s way and even manages to sit very still and not to pee on anything for a good half an hour before he finally gives up and moves over to Arthur’s workspace, plopping himself on the floor near Arthur’s feet, back leaned up against the desk.

Arthur ignores him. How can Arthur still be ignoring him? Eames is so focused on his own misery and Arthur’s unreasonableness that his head is resting against Arthur’s knee before he thinks better of it.

Arthur stiffens and Eames knows he should move. Well, human-brain Eames knows he should move, but dog-brain Eames wants to nose around a bit. Arthur still smells so interesting, he can’t get over it, and it feels good to just push his nose against the bone of Arthur’s leg. It feels good, dog-Eames insists. It’ll feel good until he kills us, human-Eames replies. Oh god, he’s talking to himself.

Eames is startled out of his own insanity by Arthur’s hand resting on his head. It doesn’t move, just rests there, almost nervously. When Eames looks up Arthur’s expression is blank, carefully not tense or even interested, and he’s not looking away from his work. Eames moves his head cautiously and Arthur’s fingers clench.

“Oh, fuck,” Eames groans. He doesn’t mean to, but, really, oh fuck that feels unbelievable.

Arthur’s hand twitches but doesn’t move. Eames moves his head back and forth a bit, as an experiment, and Arthur’s fingers brush over his scalp like five little magic wands of tingly, wonderful, orgasmic shit-yes-please.

“Oh my god, what,” Eames says. Even he’s appalled with himself right now. He figures he has a handful of seconds left to live while Arthur decides which of the items on his desk he would least mind getting Eames’s blood all over.

But Arthur’s hand still hasn’t left Eames’s head. In fact, it seems to be settling in. He clenches his fingers, dragging them through Eames’s hair and Eames makes a horrible kind of keening noise. Arthur runs his nails over Eames’s skull and Eames whimpers. Arthur presses his thumb to the back of Eames’s ear and Eames moans. Arthur is probably filming this on his phone right now, but Eames doesn’t even care.

“Oh, shit, fuck, Jesus Christ, don’t stop,” Eames hisses. Arthur moves his hand again and it’s unavoidable now: Eames is making noises previously only heard in pornography.

So, of course, this is where Cobb and Ariadne walk in.

“This is making me really uncomfortable,” Cobb says and Arthur almost falls out of his chair.

“This is not what it looks like,” he says. He might be babbling, actually. “I know what this looks like, but it’s not that, not at all, I was just…” He pauses and Eames assumes he’s looking for a better phrase than ‘petting Eames.’ Eames would help but he’s in no state to be of much use to anyone, lying in a boneless heap under Arthur’s desk.

“I don’t want to know about any of it,” Cobb says, sounding resigned and Eames watches his feet cross the room, head to his office and disappear behind the door.

“I kind of want to know about it,” Ariadne says.

“I hate you,” Arthur says to Eames.

“Hnng,” Eames replies.


Neither Arthur, Cobb nor Ariadne has found anything more useful than ‘wait it out,’ so Eames is left with no choice but to do exactly that. The team doesn’t make it easy.

Cobb surprises him with a hitherto unsuspected mean streak, throwing objects all over the warehouse for Eames to go and fetch. Sometimes he throws actual things, sometimes he fakes it, but Eames goes after it every time. Once Cobb caught him off guard and Eames was so overwhelmed that he tripped over his own feet and skidded into the door jamb. Even Arthur laughed for a full five minutes without stop. Eames peed in Cobb’s shoes for that one.

Ariadne has become fixated on the scratching thing and while, thankfully, Eames’s reactions to her ministrations are not quite so inappropriate as they are to Arthur’s, she has found a spot somewhere near the joint of his neck and shoulder where, if she rubs hard enough, Eames will actually roll his eyes up into his head and thump his foot against the floor. He would be more upset about this if it didn’t feel so damn amazing.

The worst is Yusuf. Eames doesn’t even know which one of them told him about it (though he suspects Ariadne) but Yusuf sent a spray bottle he claims to use on his cat and, worst of all, a fucking dog whistle.

“Oh my god, what is that?” Eames yelled the first time Ariadne blew it. He flung his hands over his ears and actually ran around in a panicked circle. “Don’t any of you hear that? What is it? Is that a bomb? Oh god, we’re going to die!

“I thought this might be going a little too far,” Eames heard Cobb say as Eames took shelter under Arthur’s desk, “but I take it back. This is just far enough, actually.”

“You guys are assholes,” Arthur said. He was laughing, but he also ran his foot along Eames’s side and Eames felt a little better after that.

Arthur is surprisingly good about the whole Eames-is-a-dog thing, actually. He even feeds him scraps of his take-out, even though Cobb insists it’s teaching Eames the obnoxious habit of begging. “I’m not actually a fucking dog, Dom,” Eames reminds him. “I am, in fact, allowed to eat people food.”

“Eames,” Ariadne says, holding up a bit of lamb kabob enticingly. “Hey, Eames, roll over.”

“I hate all of you,” Eames says and rolls over.


They all agree that Eames should not be left on his own, which Eames would argue, except that they decide he should stay at Arthur’s, which suits Eames just fine, actually.

Arthur argued at first, (though most of his argument consisted of him repeating in increasingly scandalized tones, “He tried to pee in my apartment!”), but Cobb is in a hotel and Ariadne is in a dorm and that leaves no one else.

“I’m not giving you anymore head scratches, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Arthur finally hissed at him, but Eames just kept right on smiling at him.

The first night Arthur made Eames sleep on the couch again, but Eames got lonely so he somehow wound up on Arthur’s bedroom floor, just beside the bed. Arthur stepped on his stomach when he woke up, making them both flail around absurdly. The next night Eames snuck his way to the foot of Arthur’s bed, but Arthur wound up kicking him in the face, so that was no good either. On the third night, Arthur let Eames have the bed and tried to sleep on the couch, but Eames wound up on the floor by his side again, so on the fourth night there were no more excuses.

“This is unprofessional,” Arthur says, lying rigidly straight on his back, squeezed as far to the side of the bed as he can manage. “This is so unprofessional,” he says again, apparently to the ceiling, since he’s refusing to acknowledge Eames’s presence. And yet Eames is there, sprawled out comfortably in Arthur’s bed, nosing the pillows a little. (Arthur still smells fantastic, and not in a three-day-old-lo-mein way.)

“Darling, what about this situation was ever professional?”

“Are you talking about the situation where you think you’re a dog or the situation where you sexually harass me at work?” Arthur asks.

“Either or,” Eames says. “Are you really going to sleep all the way over there?”

“I’d sleep all the way in China if I thought you wouldn’t follow me.”

“Man’s best friend,” Eames yawns. “It’s a compliment.”

“So go sleep with Cobb,” Arthur says.

“You don’t seem to be serious about that suggestion,” Eames notes. “Am I finally wearing you down?”

“I’m not really into bestiality,” Arthur snorts.

“Ah, but is it bestiality? Technically? I’m not really a dog, after all.”

“We’re not talking about this,” Arthur says and rolls over so Eames is looking at his back.

“Come on, we’ve stumbled onto an interesting ethical question here!” Eames laughs, poking Arthur’s shoulder. “We owe it to the world to think this through!”

Arthur ignores him.

“I know you’re not asleep,” Eames says. “Arthur, have sex with me. For science.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Arthur says, burying his head under his pillow. “I hate you.”

“You say that a lot,” Eames says, “but I really don’t think you mean it.”

Arthur hits him in the ear. But fondly, Eames thinks.


Of course, the next morning, they wake up and they are undeniably spooning.

“Do you want to be the little spoon tomorrow night, darling?” Eames asks cheerfully as Arthur frantically shoves every last stitch of his bedding, pillows and all, into the washing machine.

“I’m going to go shower forever,” Arthur says.


But Eames is something of an expert on Arthur, and he seems to like Eames better as a dog, actually. He certainly touches him more. Contrary to his professed embargo on head-scratches, it’s become routine for them to watch the news together, Eames with his back up against Arthur’s legs while Arthur sits on the sofa and gently pets Eames’s hair. Eames doesn’t even dare to make fun of him about it, just in case Arthur actually stops.

And Arthur’s much more understanding about the whole mess than Cobb and Ariadne are. When Ariadne wanted to buy him a collar and a leash, Arthur had firmly put his foot down and Eames had been delighted to see that he’d apparently been rubbing off on Ariadne when she glared good-naturedly and said, “Just because you’re afraid the sight of Eames in a collar is going to turn you on is no reason to deprive the rest of us of the pleasure.” Arthur had blushed all over and Eames, pressed up against Arthur’s leg, as usual, felt his body temperature skyrocket for the briefest of moments.

“Now I kind of want a leash and a collar,” Eames said thoughtfully and Arthur said, “Keep going and I’ll get you a muzzle.”

But he takes Eames to the park and throws a frisbee for him (it’s the only way Eames can play fetch without actually looking like a grown man playing fetch) and doesn’t even tell the others about the time that he caught Eames experimentally drinking out of the toilet bowl.

And he still lets Eames sleep in his bed.


If there is one thing Arthur is not tolerant about, it’s the humping.

Arthur, Cobb and Ariadne have taken another job. They won’t let Eames do more than consult, which is annoying enough, but the worst part is that it’s clear that Cobb and Ariadne are only sticking around to see how Eames’s little problem plays out. They wanted to see, Eames reasons, so it’s their own fault that they occasionally wake up to Eames humping Arthur’s leg.

The first time, Arthur blinked at him for a moment, then flailed (nearly kicking Eames in a very sensitive area) and yelled, “Eruagh!” Ariadne just laughed, so Cobb was the one that went for the spray bottle, blasting Eames in the face with a jet of water.

“My eyes,” Cobb said feebly.

“I feel violated,” Arthur said hollowly.

“I can’t help it!” Eames yelled.

Ariadne just kept laughing.

After that Arthur only went under with the spray bottle by his side and only when Cobb or Ariadne go on a food run and take Eames with them. It works. Most of the time.

“The way you all behave, it’s like I’m some kind of rapist,” Eames sulks.

“You were humping him in his sleep,” Ariadne points out. A couple passing them on the street stop and look at Eames, apparently convinced he’s some kind of serial humper of innocent sleeping victims.

“I can’t help it!” Eames yells for at least the tenth time. The couple seems unimpressed and Ariadne, of course, just keeps right on laughing.


On the ninth day of this routine, Eames is, sadly, getting rather used to it. He no longer makes a fuss when Cobb tries to play fetch and spends the whole morning diligently retrieving wadded up drafts of mazes Ariadne is designing. The joy has gone out of the game though, and Eames can’t even seem to enjoy Ariadne’s enthusiastic head-rubbing like he used to.

Cobb is meeting with their new client and Ariadne is working on her mazes (Eames is a little surprised Arthur let them leave him so unguarded since, apparently, Eames is a threat to his virtue, or whatever), so Eames has no one but Arthur to confess to when he sighs and says, “I think I’m going to be like this forever.”

Arthur looks down at him where he’s slumped against Arthur’s desk, as usual, and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then closes it again, quietly. He doesn’t say anything at all, just puts his hand on Eames’s head and starts to run his fingers through Eames’s hair, drag his nails over Eames’s neck, rub his thumb in circles just behind Eames’s ear.

Eames slumps forward to rest his forehead against Arthur’s thigh. He’s so caught up in the warm, full-body tingliness of the petting that it takes him a minute to realize he’s getting hard, the hot rise of arousal sneaking in under the warm, pleasurable calm. Huh, Eames thinks, this has never happened before.

“Arthur,” he says, because a warning’s only fair, but his voice comes out breathy and broken and Arthur just says, “it’s alright,” in this calm, soothing tone, like he thinks Eames is about to cry or something, which is just uncalled for. Eames looks up to be properly annoyed, but Arthur’s looking down at him with his eyes dark and his mouth just slightly parted and he says it again: “it’s alright,” and Eames thinks oh.

He’s not quite sure how it happens, but suddenly he’s got Arthur pinned to his chair and Eames is half-straddling him, grinding down on his thigh, and Arthur’s cheeks are tinged pink and he’s pushing back up against Eames, leaning back to bare his throat to Eames’s teeth and Eames has just a moment to think oh my god, I’m about to make Arthur come in his ridiculous Dunhill trousers before he actually does. Eames thinks he comes from surprise as much as anything else, shocked at the sight of Arthur, open-mouthed and ragged-breathed beneath him.

“Cobb,” Arthur pants.

Cobb,” Eames repeats, horrified. “Really? Darling, this is the worst thing you have ever done to me.”

“No,” Arthur says, still breathing hard. “I mean, Cobb blew the whistle this morning and nothing happened.”

“I’m sorry, is this some kind of euphemism?”

“The dog whistle,” Arthur clarifies. If Eames didn’t know better, he’d say it sounded like Arthur was smiling. As it is, Eames’s face is buried in Arthur’s neck, (so he can keep tasting Arthur’s racing pulse), and he can’t seem to muster up the energy to move. Arthur’s hand is still resting on the small of his back. Suddenly the words sink in.

“Are you telling me,” Eames says, “that I’ve been fetching for that asshole all day for no reason? And he knew?

“You also just humped my leg.”

“Your point?” Eames says, his voice muffled against Arthur’s neck.

“Maybe you’re more doglike than you thought,” Arthur says, and even the vibrations of his voice against Eames’s face feel smug.

“Joke’s on you,” Eames says. “I’ve wanted to hump your leg since I met you. So ha.”

“Not your suavest line, Mr. Eames.”

“Shut up,” Eames says. “Do I still get to sleep in your bed?”

“We’ll see,” Arthur says, but his hand is still resting on Eames’s back and he hasn’t shoved Eames off of him yet. Plus, he let Eames make him come in his pants, so Eames is pretty sure that Arthur’s not going to fuss about having Eames in his bed.


When Eames breaks the news to Ariadne she looks like the Grinch just came down and stole Christmas right out from under her nose. Cobb is remarkably unrepentant and Eames vows that the next time something horrible and embarrassing happens to Cobb, Eames is going to film the whole thing and put it on the internet.

“You keep acting like we did this to you,” Cobb says. “Let’s not forget this was your own fault to begin with. Maybe next time you’ll think before you get yourself into stuff like this.”

Eames makes a show of leaning back in his chair to contemplate that, timing it perfectly so he answers just as Arthur comes in from the bathroom, the front of his pants still just barely damp but at least presentable. “I don’t know, I think this worked out alright in the end,” Eames says and he smiles at Arthur over Cobb’s shoulder, predatory and smug. Arthur’s expression is a strange, adorable thing, not quite a smile and not quite a glare, like he can’t decide which one is less damning.

Cobb looks between the two of them and says, “Am I going to have to keep the spray bottle?”

“No,” Arthur says, at the same time that Eames says, “Maybe.”
Tags: arthur/eames, crack, fic, inception, jgl is the definitive gqmf, tom hardy is sexual napalm

  • fic: you are the wrecking force in me

    ALRIGHT. Uh, SO. I know I keep saying that I’m writing something really happy, and I AM, but it’s also REALLY LONG and it’s frustrating me, and,…

  • fic: the fabulist

    I don’t know, y’all. I promise I’m usually a disgustingly cheerful person around the holidays and I’m working on this thing that’s actually really…

  • ficlet: holiday for a hanging

    happy early holidays everyone! if you're not already aware of it, you should check out holiday_heist. it's a festive and fabulous…

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  • fic: you are the wrecking force in me

    ALRIGHT. Uh, SO. I know I keep saying that I’m writing something really happy, and I AM, but it’s also REALLY LONG and it’s frustrating me, and,…

  • fic: the fabulist

    I don’t know, y’all. I promise I’m usually a disgustingly cheerful person around the holidays and I’m working on this thing that’s actually really…

  • ficlet: holiday for a hanging

    happy early holidays everyone! if you're not already aware of it, you should check out holiday_heist. it's a festive and fabulous…